


Seeing Little of His Father (Thank the Gods)

by Diary



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Family, Fluff, Gay Esca Mac Cunoval, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, POV Uncle Aquila, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Queer Marcus Flavius Aquila, Romance, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Post-canon. Initially, Uncle Aquila isn't happy about Marcus and Esca's relationship, but he comes around. Complete.
Relationships: Marcus Flavius Aquila/Esca Mac Cunoval
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Seeing Little of His Father (Thank the Gods)

Marcus’ love for and pride in his father made him the strong man he is.

Aquila has never truly mourned his brother, the gods know this. Blood bound them, and if not for this, there are times to this day he’s not sure his brother would have suffered him to live.

This is among the many things he’ll never say to his nephew.

The letters his good sister dutifully wrote to him told of how Marcus was a kind child, and he suspects his brother privately despaired over this. Nevertheless, no one, including him, can deny his brother was a good father. Other than his good sister’s letters, he heard enough from others to know his brother was gentler than most men, more attentive than most high-ranking officers, towards his son, and by the time he met his nephew, Marcus was quiet, introspective, and prideful to match his father with little idleness to be found in him.

He got that slave for Marcus, because, it was clear Marcus wanted him, and his nephew has always wanted so little since being delivered here.

Now, he fears his brother had Marcus on the right path and that he’s ruined this.

He doesn’t care Marcus engages in taboo behaviour with the now citizen Esca, and he had doubts about the Aquila line continuing even before Esca entered their lives. His parents had him and his brother, his brother had Marcus, and he has no children of his own. Their father was the only survivor of thirteen pregnancies, and their mother was a frail woman whose own mother died giving birth. All this combined with the fact he’s never imagined Marcus would be the kind who would be particularly attentive to any wife he somehow managed to get-

What worries him is the way Marcus has changed since coming back.

It’s better than he ever imagined to have Marcus greet him with a smile every morning, but along with this is:

Once, Marcus and Esca came in from the rain, and when Esca sat down to remove his shoes, Marcus said, “Here, let me.”

He watched his nephew kneel carefully but easily, and removing the shoes, Marcus cleaned and dried the feet.

And Esca had looked as if this was unremarkable, as if it were right, this military man attending a lowly citizen in such a manner.

Before this, Marcus told him of his plans to get land in order to start a farm with Esca, and this hadn’t worried him until the later scene. He’d thought it’d be good for his nephew to leave soldiering behind, to gain pride from growing things, to try to be something other than what his father was.

Now, he’s fairly sure, if Esca had given his blessing or even been neutral, Marcus would have gone back to the Ninth Legion, but it’s no secret Esca has no use, no good feeling, for those men within it.

What can he say?

He never believed anyone would be able to do anything to budge the desire to be just as his father was in Marcus, but now that Esca has- Esca is flesh-and-blood, living and breathing, able to touch and be seen, and to accuse Esca of anything would be extremely dangerous. He can’t deny Esca saved his nephew’s life, he can’t deny Esca was always loyal when a slave and after, and he can’t deny Esca still openly treats his nephew with respect.

Openly.

Tonight, he’d come to ask if Marcus would attend a party with him tomorrow evening, and he knows Esca sleeps in his nephew’s bed, he knows more than sleeping happens on occasion, but he hadn’t truly stopped to think.

“And you demean Mithras,” he heard Marcus demand, and he should have made his presence known then.

“If a god can be demeaned by the words of a mere human, foreign to most of his worshippers, he isn’t much of a god,” Esca dryly replied.

When one got to be his age, they either appreciated the logic, for all they might still bristle at the presentation of it, or they were unbearably pompous to the point of almost useless, but his nephew-

Yet, when he started to step around, he was halted by the look of exasperated fondness in his nephew’s eyes. “How can you have respect for your own gods and goddesses if you so easily demean those not yours?”

“As I said, these creatures aren’t so much gods as-” Esca paused. “Closer to gods than humans, closer to humans than gods.”

This confused him enough he simply stood there.

Regarding Esca seriously, Marcus insisted, “You must resume the traditions.”

“Yes, alright,” Esca said with a sigh, and it was perfectly clear he was only begrudgingly indulging Marcus, but this was enough to cause a relieved smile in Marcus.

He meant to do something, then, to step forward or back, but it was too late.

Before he could decide, he watched Marcus ease down from his chair to kneel in front of Esca, just as he had when they came in from the rain, and he might have been seen by the leaning back Esca if not for the fact Esca was keeping his eyes on Marcus as one hand curled into Marcus’ hair and the other did something he wasn’t sure of, likely either helping expose himself or touching some unseen part of Marcus, but didn’t particularly want to wonder at.

He hoped he was quiet in his hasty, almost stumbling retreat.

Men sometimes did this. They sometimes had it done to them. He’d never felt the desire for such an act from his wife, but he didn’t particularly care what other men did or didn’t want.

Marcus, though, once so proud, so scrupulous, doing a thing that would have Marcus demeaned if anyone ever found out-

Once he got some wine, he resolved he had to do something that night.

Having a rough idea of how long it might last (he didn’t want to come in whilst his nephew was still on his knees), he waited, and the timing was only slightly off. Esca was pulling Marcus away when he started to step in, and so, he stepped back.

“Proof enough I still warrant the occasional blessing,” Esca said.

He felt himself recoil at the utter blasphemy, the insult woven within, but seeing how calm Marcus took it, he realised: The tone was typical Esca, even and slightly lilting, but there was no mockery, no sarcasm, not in his tone, in the way he sat, in the way he looked down, almost soft, at Marcus.

Oh, he realised. It could have been sincere, if not worded the way one who grew up speaking the language would word it.

He remembered the first time he and another shared intimate pleasures; he had felt blessed, then, felt as if the gods must have some deep affection for him, to allow him to experience such a thing, to experience it with someone he held such fondness for.

Then, Marcus was tugging Esca over to the bed, and knowing he should look away, he needed a suspicion confirmed.

Sure enough, he saw enough to see it was his nephew who would be entered.

Stepping away, he closed his eyes. He should be thankful, he supposed, Marcus was laying in a way unlikely to cause more harm to his leg, that Esca was clearly being careful in preparation, but-

Oh, child. You got our family’s honour back publicly, yet, in private, you do this, he thought. Your father would have no choice but to declare you a disgrace to him if he were around.

In the morning, he’d force Esca to leave, and-

“When we choose our land,” he heard Marcus’ voice, soft, quiet, “I look forward to not having to be so quiet. So clothed. Perhaps, our house can be big enough with enough noisy animals that, if Uncle should visit, we can give him a room far from ours with pleasant birds to listen to.”

Rarely has he ever heard Marcus so fanciful. Wistful, yes, but always with a tinge of anger or bitterness that neither of are present now.

“That would be nice,” Esca said, and at first, he took the tone for dismissive, but then, Esca let out a choked groan. “On clear nights, not too cold or hot, we should have one another beneath the stars. A bedroll, perhaps, a nearby lamp, and then, the stars, the ground-”

“Oh, there,” Marcus breathed out.

“Even the animals will know how much you want me, how much I need you.”

“Harder, Esca, please. I love you. I’m yours.”

He started to walk away, but he still heard the louder sounds of movement along with, “I love you, too, Marcus. Are you ready for my hand?”

...

When they break their fast, Marcus is cheerful, and he can’t remember a time in the past when Marcus was so often like this.

Of course, Marcus refuses his invitation to attend the party.

“If you wish to go, Esca, I can help you dress appropriately,” Marcus adds.

“No. I’d have even less use for such a party than you do,” Esca bluntly says.

If not for everything that happened last night, he might not have noticed this, but: Marcus adds a little extra to Esca’s plate and bowl along with his cup, and Marcus watches Esca eat closely.

He has the feeling Esca might be forcing himself to eat more than needed to satisfy his hunger, or at least, is considering doing so, but he doesn’t know what this strange battle of wills the two seem to be engaged in could possibly be about.

A few times, when Esca was first brought into the house, Marcus would make it clear to everyone but Esca that Esca, skinny runt, needed to eat more, and there were a few times when Esca made it clear, slave or not, he’d see Marcus eat properly despite Marcus’ lack of hunger, but neither is depriving themselves now, and he can’t imagine Marcus would care about Esca overindulging in food.

When Esca is undeniably done, Marcus grabs some of the food, and he dips it into the bowl and cup before a slave, Clodia, can clear them away. “Esca needs to place this outside where it’s unlikely a stray animal will get it. And when we get cows and milk them, the first milk must be set aside, not drank.”

“It doesn’t matter if a stray animal or some beggar takes them. Likely, the former is what happens most of the time,” Esca says.

“He needs to do this for every meal,” Marcus continues before adding to Clodia, who clearly believes she should take the food outside, “No, not you. You can do it yourself with your own food, if you want, but it has to be him who leaves his food.”

He feels something close to sympathy at the expression on Esca’s face along with the way he asks, “How do you know so much about this?”

“You told me.”

It’s a talent Marcus rarely nurtures: He can gather information from people without them truly realising he has unless he chooses to let them know he has.

“Did you order me to?”

From what he can tell, this strikes no nerves in Marcus.

“I ordered you to talk to me, and you told me of the old ones, skin-changers, who held dominion of the hills long before the first animals walked the Earth.”

“I had thought you merely needed noise to aid your thoughts,” Esca says.

He isn’t sure how his nephew feels hearing this, but it strikes at him. _I’m yours_ , Marcus had said, and even knowing better, he’d clung to the hope it was merely careless words said in a moment of pleasure and passion.

But no, of course, Marcus would find a way to learn of the gods or whatever these hill creatures were of the person he’d pledged himself so completely to. Deeper than his vows as a centurion, truer than the marriage vows many husbands and wives speak to one another.

Marcus has been Esca’s likely since Esca was still a slave, he realises.

“Even if that had been the case, you refusing to let me sleep in that orchard-”

“You’re welcome, centurion,” Esca says with a hint of fight in his voice, “that you’re sitting here with your uncle and not trapped in some other time, some other world. What happened with Guern is not typical. Usually, when those who don’t die as your father did disappear, it’s because they were ignorant or foolish enough to sleep in an orchard.”

“I think Guern is more typical than people being transported to different lands or times or even worlds,” Marcus mildly says. Then, there’s a change, and Marcus asks, “Would you sleep in an orchard?”

“I wouldn’t _now_.”

It’s the right answer, he knows. Like Marcus, he doubts sleeping in an orchard causes many, if any, people to be taken by hill-dwelling creatures to unreachable places, but Marcus can forgive the admission Esca might have tried to get out of his enslavement, his vows to Marcus personally, that way with the statement Esca wouldn’t now uttered in complete sincerity.

This man isn’t worth it, Marcus, he almost says aloud. A foreigner, a Briton, don’t let him change you into something you never wanted to be. I don’t want you to be your father, I never have, but don’t become what he’d despise.

Yet, he realises, though he could order Esca gone, there really is no way, not right now, he wouldn’t forever lose his nephew in doing so.

Worse, looking at Esca, he doubts this man cares.

He doesn’t think Esca has ever truly hated Marcus for all Esca might have truly hated Romans once, but- love, it’s easy enough for men besides Marcus to say during pleasant moments.

Why are you staying, he wonders. Some oath you don’t feel you’ve properly satisfied even if my nephew says you have? Mere pleasure in having a man such as Marcus take you into his mouth and arse? A plan to one day destroy him? Or is it simply that my nephew and the life he’s offering is good enough?

In other cases, he wouldn’t judge Esca for the last one. Many people are more romantic than they should be, but it’s the Roman way to be practical. Marriage is rarely about love, nor is friendship, really. A person has choices, and they make alliances within these choices.

Since Esca seems to be the queer sort who has no desire for women, only men, he could do much worse than someone such as Marcus, than the life Marcus’ modest riches and high prestige could easily provide. A good-looking man, Marcus is clearly adequate at pleasing Esca in bed, and surely, it wouldn’t be too much for Esca to restrain himself to this one man, especially since, to any person who has even a shred of competency in judging character, it’s clear Marcus would keep any vows of fidelity made sacrosanct.

Discovering this, however, might truly break Marcus.

He has no idea what to do, he fully concludes.

“Do you or don’t you believe in these hill-creatures, Esca,” he inquires, and for all Marcus glowers, they both know there’s no valid reason Marcus can object to it being ask.

“They’re real,” Esca says. “For all your nephew doesn’t truly believe in them, thinking them fanciful tells for children. But I’m not sure how much they truly pay attention to humans or if they should be indulged much in any case.”

“I was fever-ridden for three days due to you refusing to let us or even just me take shelter in the orchard,” Marcus says with undisguised soreness at the memory.

“And now, you are here, having broken fast with me and your uncle. It doesn’t matter if I leave offerings or hold to most of the traditions, but some things must not be done.”

“You will resume holding to the traditions,” Marcus declares. “I suppose this means, however, if we get our own orchard, we can’t sleep in it?”

“After the proper things are done, you may,” Esca answers.

He hears what Marcus doesn’t in Esca’s response, and cursing himself for ever buying this man in the first place, he leaves the two talking about what these proper things are.

…

He tries to think how to best talk to Marcus.

This has always been a largely hopeless tactic. For all Marcus will give him the respect of listening, something his brother rarely did, Marcus has rarely been swayed by his words, and he’s made peace with this as best he can. He’ll say what’s necessary, and Marcus will listen, reply with what Marcus thinks is necessary, and then, Marcus will do or not do whatever Marcus believes best.

Later in the day, Marcus and Esca are talking of the house they’ll one day have.

“Stone or clay,” Marcus asks.

Esca shrugs. “I don’t know how to build either.”

“We’ll learn. Do any clay houses have windows?”

“They can, but from what I know, that’s even more difficult. Often more trouble than it’s worth,” Esca answers.

“Clay or stone, we need a window in our bedroom,” Marcus says.

“Marcus, I need to speak to you,” he finds himself saying.

“Speak, then, Uncle,” is the almost cheerful reply.

“Alone.”

Marcus follows, and glancing back at Esca, he sees Esca is neutral-faced.

Once they’re away from everyone, he takes a breath to steady himself. “Your friendship with Esca is unusual. People can overlook this, but don’t- There are things that could shame you, Marcus. Shame him, as well, though, he might not appreciate this as you can. You treat him as if you were a devoted- husband.”

Wife, he almost said, and thank the gods he didn’t, even though it’s true. He tried to be an attentive husband, but he was never so much like a pup following his master as Marcus is towards Esca.

He wishes he could tell himself he was being unfair, but he’s seen Marcus literally sitting at Esca’s feet as they talked. Likely the only reason he wasn’t now is due to the scrolls they were both looking over on the table.

Esca still tends to Marcus’ leg on bad days, he still makes sure Marcus has water or wine, still looks after Marcus, he won’t deny, but he takes so much more.

_I’m yours._

Esca wasn’t Marcus’ even when he legally was.

He thinks Marcus might storm off, but instead, Marcus coldly says, “He saved my life. He helped restore our family’s honour.”

“And you saved his. I’m not denying you might owe him much, but if you lose your own honour, intentionally, in the process, what good will that be? Your father was brave and true, and circumstances beyond his control made people believe otherwise. You’re choosing to do things with him that you know others would condemn, Marcus.”

There’s unbearable silence, but just as he’s about to break it, Marcus says in a strong, clear tone, “Yes, I am. I did right by my father in restoring his good name. He didn’t deserve to have it tarnished, and since he couldn’t rectify things, I did. He died an honourable man, everyone knows this, and I did nothing to shame him when he was still alive. But I have no son, and little shame would be brought to you if I lost all my honour. I will be my own man, Uncle Aquila.”

Looking him straight in the eyes, Marcus finishes, “If I feel shame, I have done wrong. If I feel no shame, it doesn’t matter whether others would declare me shameful or not.”

“A very Briton sentiment,” he says, and he’s not sure if he meant to say it aloud or not.

“A Briton will share my home and hearth for the rest of my days,” Marcus replies. “And my bed.”

He’s not sure what Marcus was going for, simplicity or defiance, but either is ruined by the blush he knows his nephew didn’t mean to bloom forth. Likely remembering last night, he knows, or perhaps, a different time; he highly doubts last night was the first time Esca had been inside his nephew, and he has almost no doubts last night wasn’t the first time intimacies, if such a word can be applied to his once proud Marcus debasing himself can be applied, were shared between the two.

He could say Esca is a Roman citizen now, but what would be the point? Esca accepted Roman citizenship ostensibly for Marcus’ sake. He does believe, if not for a plan to stay near Marcus, Esca would have taken his freedom, perhaps along with some money, tools, and a horse, and set off to go from any Roman territories and people.

Free Romans, however, are allowed to be unconventional, especially if they have a bit of financial independence and don’t meddle too much in either the lives of the poor or in the important matters of those higher than them.

He could slit your throat in the bed of the house you built together, he thinks. Doubtful, yes, but he could force you to do things you truly don’t want in the quiet of such a house with no one around to hear you. Would you even fight back, would you kill this man you’ve spoken such soft words of love to? Or would you simply be broken, lose all of who you used to be, who you are?

Or Esca could simply decide, no, this has been pleasant enough, this time with this Roman when I was free and he was my besotted, but I don’t want this, I’ll be leaving now, it’s not my concern this could destroy him in a way suffering dishonour and lameness never truly did.

And now, his nephew does storm away.

…

Marcus and Esca avoid him during the rest of the day, though, at one point, Esca gives him a slightly curious look as if wondering why Marcus stops Esca from speaking to him, why Marcus determinedly drags Esca to another room wherever he enters one they’re in.

He goes to Marcus’ room before going to bed, but before he can make himself known, he hears Marcus say, “I’ve already read you this one.”

Peering around, he sees the two in Marcus’ too small bed with Esca underneath a large fur and Marcus sitting next to him with several scrolls and tablets next to the lamp.

“Read it again, my love,” is Esca’s simple, somewhat sleepy response. “Soon, I’ll tell you about this Greek crone I met as a child and how she helped my father win against a band of,” and Esca says a word or, perhaps, two that he doesn’t know, but it seems Marcus understands.

Marcus begins to quietly read, some fanciful fiction, likely Egyptian wrote, and he slips away.

…

Everything is cold, and he fears Marcus might ask for some land far, far away from here.

Esca is clearly getting more and more irritated with the coldness between them, but Marcus’ soft touches and slightly firm looks are enough to stop him when he starts to come near or even just say something to him (Aquila).

If he had a higher opinion of Esca, he might think Esca was uncomfortable or disapproving of showing so much rudeness towards the man hosting them or him, at least. Marcus is blood, he could never turn him out.

Esca, he could, but he knows Esca cares little, likely worries none, and if Esca would, at least, feel this-

In the gladiator pit, Esca didn’t care if he lived or died. Esca didn’t like being Marcus’ slave and made no pretence of this, and this is likely the most honest he ever saw Esca. Somehow, Esca went from despising everyone in this household to this.

What is this? Esca doesn’t ill-treat Marcus, no, but the bits of softness he occasionally sees from Esca towards his nephew, he doesn’t trust. Ignore a dog long enough, and it might just be tempted to leave, to transfer devotion to any human who gives it any sort of attention, but give it the occasional petting, make sure it’s well-fed, and it’ll be loyal until its death.

Well, then, he decides, he has to try to make sure, if Esca is what he fears Esca might be, hopefully, his nephew will return to him.

The gods might agree with this for he comes across Marcus alone.

Before Marcus can leave, he says, “Hear me speak.”

Marcus stops.

“I worry for you. I always worry for you, my boy. I didn’t worry much for your father. He was a good man, honourable, and I wanted him around for you and your mother, but I made my peace with the fact he was liable to die a young man while the gods might bless me with old age before I truly became a man. I’ve never been able to make the same peace in regards to you.”

“For all my worry, you’re right, you must be your own man. If a farm with Esca will make you happy, then, hang what anyone else might say. You’ll always be welcome here, and so long as Esca is good to you, he is too. Just know, if you ever decide a life with him isn’t- for as long as I’m alive, you’ll always be able to call my home yours.”

He fears Marcus is going to stomp away again, but instead, Marcus takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Has the question of a stone or clay house been settled?”

“No. We’re still going over the offers of lands we’ve received, and once we decide that, then, based on the typical weather, we’ll decide how the house should be. Esca says there are certain types of straw that are better than others, and some places produce a natural abundance of good stones that, sometimes, are placed there by the old skin-changers for people to use.”

“Sensible,” he says. Deciding it wouldn’t be best to inquire about these hill creatures right now, he offers, “When you find a place, I’d be happy to send some of the younger slaves-”

“No,” Marcus responds. “We’ll build our house and tend our farm with no slaves.”

He wonders if offering Clodia might- no. Esca might accept her, but no sooner were they gone would she be free.

“All the same, thank you,” Marcus continues.

“Britons keep slaves, too,” he says.

Marcus glances around. “Yes. Including Esca’s father. But Esca never did, not truly. He’s determined he’ll live or die by his own hard work, and I’m determined he’ll live by our combined hard work.”

“Well, I can’t exactly fault a man for that sort of conviction, but the truth is, the two of you might need the work of others to make your farm a success. If so, is he going to object to hired labour?”

“No.” Marcus doesn’t expand but looks as if he might want to. No doubt, Marcus understands the peculiarities of Esca’s mind better than most.

“Good. If you ever need help finding labourers, I’ll likely be able to grant it.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Marcus says with an almost unbearably soft look on his face.

…

He comes across Esca and Clodia arguing, and part of him wishes he could believe Esca were guilty of using his slave without permission, but he knows better. Esca treats her almost like a child, and she treats him less as a freedman and more as, well, the young master’s most prized, most favoured, slave.

“Marcus would tell you so,” Esca is saying.

In response, Clodia inquires, politely enough, “Would the young master, though? He doesn’t believe in your,” and she says a word he doesn’t know.

Esca’s expression concedes the point, but all he says is, “When you are freed and marry, choose someone who shares your gods.”

“A Jewish merchant would be best to marry,” Clodia says.

He has no idea if Esca is as taken aback by this statement as he is or not. All Esca does is sigh. “Go back to the kitchens, Clodia, while I talk to your master.”

Looking over at him, she jumps, and he waves her away before she can start babbling.

Once she’s gone, Esca says, “Speaking of merchants, I’ll go to the market alone today. Marcus’ leg is bothering him. I’ve gotten him to sleep.”

“Do I need to send for a doctor?”

“I don’t think so. He had a bad dream, and he might have twisted it some. There’s a drink you Romans don’t have but I know how to make. If I can find the right herbs at the market, I’ll make him some, and that should help his dreams.”

“Best of luck to you,” he says.

It sounds a bit sarcastic to his own ears, but he’s not sure if he means it as such or not. During campaigns, he doubts Marcus complained about whatever food was available, but otherwise, Marcus is fairly rigid in his food selection; getting him to try new things is not an easy feat. Yet, he imagines, if Esca asked or, possibly, even ordered Marcus to try some food or drink, Marcus would.

“I love him.”

Stopping, he turns back around, and Esca is standing.

Looking straight into his eyes, Esca says, “I love your nephew. I love Marcus.”

There’s no deception he can see, though, the look Marcus has when looking at or simply talking of Esca, he also doesn’t see it now with Esca talking of Marcus.

“Everything I’ve done to him, he’s asked for, and everything he’s done to me, he’s wanted to do. I’ve never intended to shame him, and I never will. He says what he and I have is worth the possibility of scorn by his own people, and believing him capable of knowing his own mind and heart, I take him by his word.”

He wonders exactly how much of his conversation with Marcus has been told to Esca.

Esca continues, “I know he does much to see to my happiness and needs, but I would do almost anything he asked of me. He simply- doesn’t ask for much.”

True pity and understanding goes through him. It’s easy enough to love one’s kin, but for a lover, it must not be easy to love someone who is so close to a stoic ideal. His brother’s wife seemed to handle it well enough, though, he’d use the word ‘dutiful’ above all else to describe her, but he actively tried not to be like this with his own wife. He spoke his mind, urged her to speak hers, and tried to be compromising when they had differences of opinion. He knew what would make her happy, and he often tried to ensure she was just as she did for him.

Part of the problem might be, however, is Esca is so quiet himself. He’d call the man calculating, and the question arises: Does he want Marcus to beg, or does he truly just wish Marcus were a little more open, a little less selfless?

“Did he have you when you were a slave?”

Esca shakes his head. “No.”

“You didn’t seem to like him at all.”

“I didn’t,” Esca composedly states. “I didn’t like any slaver nor any Roman. Yet, you Romans might be the best thieves in the world. Back beyond the wall, he gave me my legal freedom, and then, on the journey home, he stole my heart. He could have given it back when we returned to Rome, but he refused.”

Esca is a man, he can never forget this fact, but there’s a certain churlishness underneath, much like a child would show, that almost makes him laugh.

“I believe you stole his heart long before he took yours.”

“No,” is the simple response. “He gave me his.”

“You don’t seem happy with the situation.”

Esca’s expression strikes him.

“You’re not the only one worried,” Esca quietly says. “People can, on occasion, live without full possession of their heart. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

“What specifically worries you?”

For a long moment, Esca’s silent.

Then, “Do you think your nephew knows his own heart well? I believe him capable of it. He wants me now, wants a farm with me, but for years, he wanted nothing but to find the Eagle and be a soldier. He’s found the Eagle, but he’s rejected going back to soldiering for my sake.”

Esca’s eyes are sharp and prickly. “I have my pride. I’ve never lost it. If someone doesn’t want me in their bed, then, I don’t want to be in it. Others I’ve been with, I knew they’d tell me when they tired of me, and they knew I’d tell them the same. Do you think your nephew with his rigid ideas of honour and oaths would tell me if he suddenly wanted to go back to being a proper, irreproachable Roman?”

Ah, almost the exact same worries, he realises.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do.”

It’s a bit of a lie, perhaps, but- Gods know Esca does have his pride. He wouldn’t be so open like this just to further draw his nephew into a trap, and seeing the man Marcus has fallen in love with does indeed love Marcus back, he has an obligation to help his nephew.

“Does he know of those you were with before him?”

“Yes. And I know of those he was with before me.”

“Did any of those you were- did any of them have your heart?”

“Not like this. I loved some of them, but it was different. For all we were lovers, it wasn’t the love of lovers I felt for them.”

Not so different from Romans, he thinks. The women, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know many women, and the only one he can say he knew very well was his wife, but men, they love their friends, and sometimes, they share pleasure with them. Some do as Marcus and Esca have done, fall in love, but most, they love, and it’s fun, but then, they fall in love with someone besides their loved lover, usually a woman, though, sometimes, a different man.

“I don’t need to ask of Marcus. He never loved like this until you.”

Esca shrugs. “There was one that he could have. He all but shoved his heart into the man’s hands, but the man never took it.”

He has his suspicions on who this man was, and in truth, he’s glad the man didn’t. The man he suspects is a proper Roman from a good family, but he’d take Esca, even when he believed Esca might be a curse waiting to happen, over him.

“Do you think Marcus ever dreams of him?”

The question clearly startles Esca.

“No.” And for all Esca was startled, there’s simple, unthinking surety in the answer.

Esca, it seems, knows the peculiarities of Marcus’ mind better than most.

“Then, for all you don’t like thanking Romans for anything, thank this man for not. If he had, you likely never would have gotten Marcus. But you did. I’d wager he does dream of you now, and I know, if you left, he’d dream of you for many years to come.”

He hesitates to say the rest, but-

“Marcus was always his father’s boy. I thought he’d die that way. Instead, he did what his father never would have done, saved the life of a slave for reasons he didn’t even understand himself, trusted a slave on a slave’s word, and then, far from home, discovered he didn’t truly want what his father had. He wants the one who has his heart.”

Privately, he thinks Esca did, in a way, steal Marcus’ heart. A person can take something without realising they are, especially hearts, and perhaps, Esca did only fall in love beyond the wall, but he doubts the same is true for Marcus.

There’s a flash of vulnerability in Esca’s eyes, and he can practically hear the thoughts, _You stupid Romans, what makes either of you think I know how to handle it, care for it, to not manage to hurt it?_

It eases everything even more.

There’s still a chance of his nephew being heartbroken, he knows. That’s simply a reality of life.

“Twenty years is how long I was wed,” he says. “Love came with time. Even before the love, though, I was faithful and honest. As was Marcus’ father, and as Marcus will be. As he is. I don’t know about Britons, but all I want is for someone who will return that to him. If you do that, then, you’ll have done right by him, and he’ll have done right by himself by being able to say the same.”

Esca looks at him. “Thank you.”

…

On his way to the market, Esca found a horseshoe, and at dinner, he and Marcus discuss whether it should be nailed to the front door of their house or their bedroom door.

“We’ve decided on a clay house,” Marcus adds. “If Esca doesn’t end up killing this scribe, Lucius, we’ve seen a few times at the market, we might be able to get advice from him.”

Looking around, Esca says, “Be more protective of Clodia. She is your uncle’s, after all.”

“He gave her a bit of cake once,” Marcus tells him. “Esca is convinced this means he’d bed her if given the chance.”

“Because, a man spares cake for a lowly slave he doesn’t want in some way.”

“When that senator with his slaves visited, you gave them-”

“Those were children, too young to bleed, too young to seed another. I wouldn’t automatically believe a man showing kindness to children had such depraved motives. Clodia is a full woman.”

“You give her-” Marcus persists.

“It’s different.”

“I gave you the last of my honey cake once,” Marcus says.

And he reflects, if Esca weren’t insistent on certain things, then, he’d realise Marcus had just acknowledged Esca’s point.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t fall asleep on my feet.”

No, he thinks but knows better than to say. He wanted to see your expression as you bit into it, wanted to see if your eyes lit up or if your mouth scrunched into itself.

Neither had happened, though, Esca had accepted another slave’s offer to share the bigger piece they’d gotten from their owner.

Marcus had become unbearably surly that night, but it seemed Esca truly didn’t notice.

…

Curse my luck, he exasperatedly thinks.

It’s so cold tonight he wouldn’t have thought the two would do more than curl tightly under furs and blankets.

Should have sent a slave, he thinks.

Perhaps, he can quietly push the extra furs he brought into the doorway, and if they get cold enough, one of them will get up to find them.

“Good,” he hears Esca breathe out, and something about the sound compels him to peek around.

It turns out Marcus isn’t the one being penetrated tonight.

Foreign words tumble out of Esca’s mouth, and Marcus kisses his neck.

Ducking back, he resolves he’ll just set the furs down outside the door-

“I think I dreamed of you,” Esca says. “Back when I was in-between boyhood and manhood, waking up to find my seed spent. A handsome man, move a little to, yes, like that, kissed me, touched me, it scared me a bit, how good this man made me feel.”

“Is this good,” Marcus asks.

“Yes. Keep going.”

“It sounds like a normal dream for a growing youth to have,” Marcus says.

“I thought so, too. But the others I was with, they never made me feel the way the dreams did. I didn’t expect them to, but the first time with you, it was better than the dreams. Familiar, though. I- oh, it’ll be soon, you can mark me. Please, Marcus, I love you, I am-”

And he knows with a strange brewing in his stomach Esca was about to say ‘yours’, but for all he won’t peek back around, he’s guessing by the fact Esca suddenly lets out a loud moan, Marcus knew, too, or had a suspicion, at least, and that Marcus deliberately prevented the word from being said.

Setting the furs down as Marcus gasps out terms of love along with uninterrupted declarations that he’s Esca’s, he quickly walks away.

…

During breakfast, Marcus says, “If you don’t mind it, Uncle, we’ll be your neighbours.”

“Oh?”

“Marcus has been offered land near here,” Esca says.

“We. And Esca has promised to try not to antagonise Lucius the scribe anymore, and so, we should have a chance at keeping up with the latest farming techniques.”

“Well, at least, he doesn’t have strange ideas about there only being one god,” Esca mutters.

“You’ve told of Briton tribes-” Marcus starts.

“They might only worship one god or goddess, but they don’t have the arrogance or stupidity or both to believe there are no others. Just that the others are lesser.”

“When Clodia is free, who can she marry that you won’t object to,” Marcus inquires.

“Someone easy to kill and smart enough that, despite this, Clodia won’t be a widow for a long time to come.” Setting some food aside, Esca adds, “Don’t worry. If she’s to become a widow in a way that invites questions, Marcus will either be visiting you or somewhere with others who can truthfully vouch for him.”

“No,” Marcus flatly says, “I won’t.”

He hopes Clodia will enjoy being their paid servant until such time she finds a man Esca is willing to give his begrudging blessing to.

“About this land,” he prods.

Marcus nods. “It’s in…”

…

Soon, Marcus and Esca will be leaving, and though he’s a little sad, he’s excited for Marcus.

“Uncle,” Marcus greets. “Esca is helping Clodia pack.”

“He’s still convinced she’s not coming with you?”

Nodding, Marcus looks as if he might wearily sigh. “If he had his way, she’d be serving the Vestal Virgins. He doesn’t- quite seem to understand what exactly they are and do and believe. In his mind, since she routinely pays devotion to Vesta, they ought to be happy to educate her in exchange for service until she finds a husband he doesn’t mistrust.”

And now, he guesses, poor Clodia is likely soothing Esca’s irritation or anger or insult that Marcus won’t simply pay her fee or use his influence to have this done.

“Would any man fit that?”

“Likely not a Roman,” Marcus mildly says. “She’ll do well for us. She can make that spiced water of his almost better than he can, and neither of us can cook eggs the way she can. And she has a genuine fondness for him, as well.”

Noticing how Marcus is clearly trying not to lean against the wall, he urges, “Sit down.”

“I need to say something.”

His own leg hurts at seeing how Marcus’ twitches.

“Esca doesn’t have any family left. If he did, he and I would likely always be either enemies or strangers. I know my father and mother wouldn’t approve. I know- I understand why you’re worried. I’m not much of a Roman anymore. But I want you to know, Uncle, I am a man of my word. Saying you want to build a life with someone can’t be the end of it.”

“I will try my best to always show Esca the love and respect he deserves. I’ll never lie to him or stray. And I’ll do my best to not hurt him in word or deed. When I do wrong him, I’ll try to make things right. He’s the most important person in the world to me, and just as I don’t say that lightly, I won’t treat what I have with him lightly.”

His first reaction is, Marcus is subtly earnest, and he can see the kind little boy Marcus once was.

But, he realises, it takes a true man to do this.

He’s never hated the Britons, never truly wished them ill. Part of him wishes Esca’s father, mother, any siblings, were alive. Marcus should have the opportunity to choose to do as Esca did; he knows now, without a doubt, Marcus would choose to.

Of course, his nephew would do the next best thing. No one but perhaps him would think to hold Marcus accountable if he truly did Esca wrong, and so, here Marcus Flavius Aquila is.

His brother was a fine soldier, never a coward, but his brother never would have done this, not for any woman or man.

He probably never would have, either. Certainly, at his age, he wouldn’t now. If he ever remarries, he’ll treat his wife with the same respect he showed his first, but love like this won’t ever be his again.

“I know.” Going over, he gets Marcus settled into a chair. “I believe all you said. There’s only one part you were wrong about.”

Marcus looks at him.

“You’re his family now. And so am I. Because of what he means to you, if gods forbid, something happens to you, I’ll always try to be there for him as I would be for you.”

Marcus nods. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Esca and Clodia come in, and Esca’s eyes immediately go to Marcus’ leg.

“I’m fine,” Marcus assures him.

Asking Clodia to go get some salve, Esca comes over. “Let me make certain.” Kneeling down, he begins examining it. “What happened?”

“I just stood for too long.”

“There’s several chairs in here. Why didn’t you sit?”

“That was my doing,” he speaks up. “Marcus was making an oath to me that required standing.”

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Esca says in relief. “Will there be any more long oaths requiring standing?”

“No. I’ll be fit to travel when it’s time.” Marcus runs a hand through Esca’s hair. “You don’t need to worry so.”

“It’s not so much worry as it is, since you Romans have such strange ideas about virginity, you’re carrying Clodia’s lyre or harp or whatever that music instrument is.”

Looking down with utter devotion, Marcus agrees, “Of course.”


End file.
